6
In vain did Bruceſs Boaſt,
Our Squadron he would conquer.
Or elſe to Davie's locker,
Each Britſh tar ſhould go;
But when we came upon them,
At ſea, or yet at anchor.
Brave Nelſon with a broadſide,
Cried what cheer ho?
Soon thunders roll'd from ſide to ſide,
Poor Galics blood beſtain'd the tide.
For Britiſh tars ſtrick home,
When e'er they meet the foe.
The Blood o'er flowed our decks,
(Our ſhips lay as wrecks.
Our tars each other hailing,
Crying what cheer ho?
But when thoughts came a-croſs me
About ſweet Poll, my Partner,
Whom I had left a ſobbing
Becauſe I needs muſt go.
A ſhot from ſome d———d frenchman
Came thro' our larboard quarter,
And ſtruck of both my pins,
And cried what cheer ho?
This like a hull diſmaſted.
While the hot action laſted,
A bleeding on the platform,
